


Don't Fight It

by rc1788



Series: Thunderhearts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Comfort/Angst, Cuddling, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), WinterFalcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rc1788/pseuds/rc1788
Summary: Bucky runs away, Steve is heartbroken, and Sam saves the day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from [my tumblr](http://rogerbarnewilson.tumblr.com).

Sam finds Bucky in an odd place--in Knoxville, Tennessee, in a motel they both stayed at on their road trip from New York to Texas. Stiffly, Sam raises his fist and knocks on the door. **  
**

“It’s open,” says Bucky from inside.

Sam pushes open the door, burgeoning with questions, but he takes it all in first. The dark room with the curtains drawn shut, the TV on but muted, and the pile of cigarette butts in an ashtray on the bedside table.

Bucky himself, naked from the top up, wearing sweatpants and lying on the bed, a lit cigarette at his lips.

“You’re a mess,” Sam growls.

“I know.”

“Steve is worried _sick_.”

“I know.”

“Then come back with me, you asshole.” The admonishment is weak at best. Bucky picked up and left while Sam and Steve were on a mission, and it made Sam mad at first, but the way Steve reacted--withdrawn, defeated--was even worse.

Bucky sits up then, puts out the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. His hollow eyes gaze over at Sam, and he snorts.

“What the hell, Barnes?”

“It’s better this way.”

Sam sheds his backpack and sets it by the door, crosses the room, and stands in front of Barnes with his arms folded. “I don’t have a lot left in me for a pep talk, Barnes. I’ve been flying for hours trying to find you. Steve seems to think you don’t want to be found this time, and the thought of it’s got him feeling useless. So if you think this is better for him, then fine. I’ll leave. But Steve needs you.”

“Not anymore,” Bucky murmurs with a bitter smile.

“ _I_ need you.”

Now Bucky looks up at him. A flicker of light in those eyes and Sam inhales. His voice wavers in a way he doesn’t expect. “I need you, Barnes.”

Bucky covers his face with his hand and sucks in a breath between his teeth. Sam’s not sure if he’s crying but he won’t risk it--he kneels down in front of Bucky and scoops him up into his arms. This broken being in front of him was running away from a problem he’s decided he can’t fix--a problem no one can fix, and a problem that _somebody_ had to deal with.

“It’s okay,” Sam murmurs, turning his face into the side of Bucky’s head, inhaling deep the scent of sweat and smoke.

“I remembered more shit,” Bucky says in his broken voice. Through tears, he can’t articulate the rest. He just sucks in more air and whispers. “A family.”

Sam cups the back of Bucky’s head and sets the other man’s chin on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says again, even though it isn’t. “It’s over.”

Time seems to stop as Bucky pours his pain into choking sobs stifled against Sam’s shoulder. Sam maneuvers onto the bed without letting go of Bucky and settles both of them back onto the pillows. 

Bucky’s still crying, painfully silent, the sound of each breath like he’s being choked. It’s twisting a knife deep in Sam’s chest. He’s been there. Alone, crying into his pillow. Waiting for the pain behind his eyes to disappear. Falling asleep because he’s too exhausted to do anything else. Sam lifts his hand and places it on the back of Bucky’s head, his fingers lacing with strands of his hair.

Finally, Bucky starts to breathe in a regular rhythm. He looks up at Sam, his gaze hazy. “You don’t need to do this, not for me,” Bucky whispers.

“You’re not the only one with ghosts,” says Sam.

Bucky lifts his eyes--those cold, snow day eyes--expecting an explanation. Realizing he wouldn’t get one, he blinks and looks away. Sam stares down at him and doesn’t want to disappoint that sad face.

“Back when I was in the Air Force,” Sam starts off quietly, “I was stationed near a village. I gave out medical supplies to the people there. And there was a girl there that helped me pass out the medkits. One day… she tugged me toward this house we’d never been to, and she showed me what was inside. It was a weapons cache. Machine guns, explosives, ammunition. All kinds of bad stuff. And I reported it.”

Then Sam grew silent. Bucky doesn’t say anything, either. So Sam finishes the story.

“I thought… They’d send in a squad, seize the weapons, and we’d move on. But that didn’t happen. They… wiped that village off the map. The people I was sent to help. The girl. All--gone.”

Bucky’s arm around his waist tightens.

Sam settles the back of his head on the pillow and shuts his eyes. He feels Bucky shift, his chest pressed against him, and when he opens his eyes, Bucky’s face is hovering over his. Strands of dirty brown hair tickle Sam’s cheeks and he squints.

“I’m sorry,” says Bucky. His brow is creased and he’s got something he wants to say, Sam knows, because he opens his mouth and then shuts it. “It’s not your fault.”

“It--”

“Don’t. It’s not. It’s war.”

Sam’s tongue flicks over his lips and he wants to protest, because even if he was in the military he wasn’t a killer--he never wanted to be, anyway, and maybe that was his one and only naive thought he held onto.

“War sucks,” Sam murmurs.

Bucky presses a kiss to his lips, exhaling softly against him, his body hot and melting into Sam. Bucky tastes like stale cigarettes, and Sam _hates_ how much he wants a cigarette right then.

Sam’s hands roam and touch Bucky’s back, his sides. Then he pulls back. “Hey,” he says to Bucky. “Steve’s worried.”

Bucky seems to remember himself, averting his gaze and lying back down beside Sam. He buries his face in Sam’s shoulder and inhales, takes in his scent, and then he snakes his cold arm under Sam’s back.

“I’m tired,” says Bucky. “I’m tired of pretending everything’s okay, for Steve, and I love him, but… but I want space.”

“I get it.”

“Do you?”

Sam angles his head down and sees Bucky’s eyes are stitched shut, he’s grimacing. His jaw clenches, and Sam battens down the pang of pity he starts to feel, because Barnes doesn’t need it. He’s guilty and he knows his ghosts are haunting him, and he’s afraid his ghosts will get to Steve. And through it all Steve offers nothing but love--love, given so freely, that it feels undeserved.

“Steve means a lot to you,” Sam whispers.

“Steve means everything to me.”

“You don’t wanna let him down.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Sam sighs, “I feel the same way.”

“You should.” Bucky presses his nose into Sam’s neck. A bloom of goosebumps race across his skin and Sam turns his head to look at Bucky. “You deserve the world, Sam.”

Now Sam’s face heats up and his folds in his lips to keep from smiling. Bucky presses a kiss just under his ear and he exhales, relaxing into the bed, and into the form beside him.

“Sam,” Bucky whispers. “Can we stay like this?”

“Yeah, Bucky.” The name’s foreign on his tongue and he smiles all the same. Barnes. _Bucky_. Bucky Barnes. “Of course.”


End file.
